A Conspiracy of Kindness
by Dark Eyed Seer
Summary: SEQUEL to Veritas. In order to help him, they're going to need everything he's ever taught them.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The first theme song for A Conspiracy of Kindness is 'Unwell' by Matchbox 20. There will be more than one as I have a feeling ACofK is going to be much longer than its predecessor. Or maybe that's just me knowing my own writing patterns.**

**Since we all saw Wilson's 'You're an idiot' speech, I don't need to rewrite it. Let's pick up events with the next day.**

**XXXXX**

Chase had spent most of the evening flipping through Bobby Fischer's books and fiddling with the cheap wooden chess set he'd bought at the hospital gift shop. He had a strategy and a game plan. What he didn't have was a way to convince House to play with him.

He saddled by the Diagnostics department a few times before lunch. House had first been downloading something either obscene or disgusting the first time and hadn't even glanced up.

The second time he got a glance, House was tuning his guitar. He did that every day; Chase had always watched this process from the corner of his eye while pretending to solve a crossword for almost four years.

Chase couldn't play the guitar; he'd never so much as picked one up. He'd always admired those who could. They were THE cool kids, the band, musical and therefore social elite.

Chase's mother had made him take piano lessons for a few years. He could never practice, though, because his father screamed about the noise and that started another fight.

And then his mother started drinking and he didn't have anymore lessons to practice for after that.

Music and Chase had never made much of a connection. He knew when something sounded good, and even sometimes when it didn't. But he'd never understood it the same way others seemed to.

However he felt about music, when House picked up his guitar, Chase always felt _charged_ somehow. As if House's personal energy went into whatever he was playing and gave everyone who heard him a zing.

The third time Chase found an excuse to walk by and glance in House was staring at him blatantly. Chase paused and House grinned and crooked one finger.

"Do you need me for something?" Chase asked hoping for mercy.

Of course he'd obviously forgotten who he was dealing with.

"You're always needed Chase. Why somewhere right now someone is using an inferior root booster! When will mankind learn?"

Definitely manic today, Chase thought, "Yes, because eight years of school was just a front for my secret passion. You caught me."

"Well with hair like that I could see how it may overcome even the noblest of intentions. Damn mirrors just popping up everywhere. Constantly checking to make sure the 'casual ruffled' look doesn't need another two hours of work."

Wow, he's REALLY bored, Chase thought. And then paused, the day before yesterday he would have said 'wow, he's a real jerk.' Huh, funny how knowing the reasons behind things make them so much easier to deal with.

"So anything besides my hair you want to talk about?" Chase asked helping himself to a guest chair.

House rolled his eyes, "I'm not suicidal. It was an experiment, it didn't work. Drop it."

Chase grinned, "Oh, because you're just the kind of person that lets everything go."

"You're not me. When you get to my status in the herd I'll let you know. Probably by hurling you back down the totem, but hey, that's survival of the fittest. Oh, right, Darwin was a demon to your people. All that evolution, no room for the perfectly sensible Magic Garden story with the talking snake."

Now THAT was an opening, "I may not be you yet, but I'm closer than you think."

House grinned in a manner that could only be described as 'indulgent', "Oh, really. And how close do you think you are?"

"What don't we find out?"

"Why not? Choose your method of execution."

"Chess."

"Bring it on."

XXXXX

Chase jogged down to the locker room to retrieve the chess set. He was planning on telling House he'd stolen it from Peds.

Cameron caught him at the elevators, "You actually got him to play?"

He gave her a smug look, "You doubted me?"

"O.K, This I have to see."

XXXXX

Foreman had wandered in at some point and was reviewing old charts when Chase and Cameron arrived, "What's going on?" He eyes the office next door where House was plucking out scales.

Knowing House would pick up on anything suspicious, Chase just waved the chess game and walked past.

"This requires an audience?" House asked, not sounding displeased in the slightest. He put the guitar on its stand and sat down.

"I think a little wager might make the game more interesting." Chase improvised.

House's amused expression became delight. What did I just step in? Chase wondered.

XXXXX

House did not play chess like an ordinary person. For one, he insisted that Chase's pieces were all Australian and gave them individual voices. If Chase had ever doubted that House had lived in Australia, it was long gone.

The Queen was Olivia Newton John, The King was Crocodile Dundee, Steve Irwin played the rooks, and it rather went downhill from there.

The commentary alone sent Cameron into hysterics at one point and she had needed to go into the other room for a deep breath and a glass of water.

When Chase's (he now realised inevitable) defeat came about, House made his Crocodile Dundee voice wail out 'Waltzing Matilda'.

"I get the next game." Foreman slapped a ten dollar bill down next to the board.

House offered him the choice of white or black with a straight face and a raised eyebrow.

Foreman predictably chose black and House went into a frenzy of creating little voices for gangstas and ho's.

XXXXX

None of them had presented any kind of challenge, though House seemed to be enjoying himself. Cameron's Confederate General (possibly Lee, Chase wasn't quite sure about American History) fell with a 'Land Sakes!'

So Foreman proposed he try playing more than one game at a time.

The lounge in Orthopaedics yielded a handsome wooden set, and Peds had a magnetic one.

At first it seemed to be working, House was no longer giving each move a little in character commentary. Chase thought finally they might be on to something; finally they might be challenging him.

But House kept checking his watch and glancing back at the three boards.

Finally his face lit up, the three former fellows turned to see the three current fellows entering. Taub updated House on the current patient's treatment results. Successful and no permanent damage, House nodded absently and made three more moves.

Foreman, Chase, and Cameron scrabbled to counter them.

Wilson came in and House beamed, "Ready?"

"For what?" Wilson leaned over the desk.

House moved his bishop on Chase's board, his queen on Foreman's, and a knight on Cameron's.

He stood up and took an exaggerated bow. Kutner began clapping excitedly.

His three opponents stared down at the game boards and then at each other.

"Synchronized Chess Defeats, my new invention. Think I could get it into the Olympics?" House began tossing his fuzzy ball into the air.

Wilson didn't miss a beat, "Well as small as the athlete pool would be, you'd make a fortune in personal advertising."

XXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson had mentioned lunch and House was off careening down the hall bellowing over his shoulder to all creation that Wilson was paying.

Wilson merely rolled his eyes and muttered, "As if it would be any other way," and followed, actually having to break into a jog to catch up.

For a man with a motor disability, House was often hard to keep up with. It made Cameron wonder what he must have been like before. He was such a _physical_ person, always twirling the cane or juggling just about anything small enough.

The three new fellows were busying themselves in the conference room while Cameron helped a slightly despondent Chase pack away the games.

"Obviously more effort is required." Foreman muttered, taking House's chair.

They all liked to do this whenever House was out of the office. Cameron supposed it could be compared to 'daddy's chair' and the thrill that once inspired.

"How can anyone do that? Play three games at once and still be arranging things around them?" Chase asked finally.

Foreman just gave him the standard 'that's House, what do you expect?' look, and began fiddling with the handheld game system on the desk, "How often does he play with these things?"

Cameron shrugged, "All the time. Why?"

Foreman removed the game cartridge, "Because he plays a different game every time as far as I can tell."

"Oh," Cameron got up, "I think I saw him throw one in here once."

She bent down over the last drawer in the filing cabinet and pulled it open, "Whoa."

The other two joined her with gratifying speed and echoed, "Whoa."

The drawer was filled with tiny game cartridges. There were literally _hundreds_ of them. Cameron sifted through and discovered about five or six different kinds. Some, she knew from her cousins, came from the original Game Boy.

"So, do you think he just plays them until he gets bored or…" Chase trailed off.

Foreman gave him another, 'what do you think, this is HOUSE' look.

"So he beats them, throws them in here and buys a new one." Cameron began organizing them into piles and dividing them by game system.

"How did the chess game go?" Cuddy was standing in the doorway, "I saw Wilson sheparding him off to lunch."

"Pretty much as predicted. Like Bobby Fischer playing a six year old with Downs Syndrome." Chase replied, "But check this out."

Cuddy came over to observe Cameron's sorting, "What are all these?"

"As far as we can tell, every video game House has beaten since the late nineties." Cameron stopped sorting and looked up, "This is unbelievable."

"If we can get him to give them up, Peds would be ecstatic." Chase interjected.

"I bought him the first Game Boy, right after the infraction. He was in pain and bedridden for months. I remember him always bugging Wilson to buy him new games." Cuddy picked up The Legend of Zelda and Metroid, "These were the first ones. I think they only lasted about a week."

"Oh, God. I just remembered he has some at home, too." Cameron squinted trying to remember House's apartment, "I think it's a Playstation 2 and an XBOX, but he used to have a N64."

She blushed when everyone stared at her, "What? My cousins play all the time on the holidays, I know the lingo."

"I think we were wondering how well you know House's apartment, actually." Chase raised an eyebrow.

"As well as any of you, you've all been there, too." Cameron blushed a bit darker and gave her sorting new vigour.

"I haven't actually." Cuddy said after a few moments, "I've been to the door, but I've never been inside. You all have?"

Chase and Foreman glanced at each other and nodded. Cameron arranged the piles in development order.

"So, how many beaten games do you think he has at home?" Chase asked to break the awkward silence.

"Probably comparable." Foreman leaned back in the chair, "I wish there were some kind of scale we could measure this on. I mean what does this mean besides the fact that he's an eleven year old in a forty something body."

"Well it obviously shows intelligence and reflexes… strategy… Really, this is just House being House. Veni Vidi Vici is his way of life." Chase added.

"See if you can get him to part with them." Cuddy suggested, "He's obviously not playing them any more and Chase was right, Paediatrics would be very appreciative."

Cameron watched her leave. She seemed kind of sad. Maybe she felt less connected to House, despite knowing him as long as Wilson had. They had all been in House's personal space but she was stopped at the door.

Of course, it wasn't as though House went out of his way to invite _anyone_ over. Wilson seemed to play it by ear.

Cameron wasn't after Wilson status. That was next to impossible, she got the feeling even Wilson didn't know how or why he'd been given the title of Best Friend.

But House had grouped Wilson into one category and the rest of the world into another.

She was hoping he might make a new category for them.

XXXXX

Foreman visited a game store in the mall on his way home. After perusing both the ridiculous and the ridiculously expensive he picked up a standard Rubik's Cube.

The man at the desk gave him an entirely unsolicited summery of the Cube World at large (something Foreman had insofar been unaware of) but did pass on the interesting competitive nature of the game.

Foreman bought a book, two cubes and one of the special 'essential' timers.

It took him the better part of the evening to solve the puzzle with the book's help, but he felt an odd sense of accomplishment turning it over in his hands and admiring the full coloured sides.

He was glad he'd bought two as he could quite bring himself to mess up all that hard work.

He carefully wrote down how long it had taken him, wishing suddenly that he had Chase or Cameron's times with which to compare it. But his would be enough.

He picked up the other cube and used the proper mixing method to ensure it was at its most challenging and put it into his briefcase, grinning at thoughts of confounding House with it the next day.

XXXXX

House was stealing Wilson's fries and treating his friend to a loud discourse on what sounded like some prime time drama. Foreman slipped in beside Wilson, Chase to the seat next to House and Cameron perched on the next table.

House slurped his soda as loudly as possible, "Ah, my little protégés, back for round two? I was thinking maybe if I were heavily sedated or something; you might give me a bit of a challenge. So, Wilson? Got some fun cancer drugs to share? The good ones, I mean, terminal drugs."

Wilson propped his chin on his fist and shook his head with a smile, "That's the one perk about dying House, the drugs. You can't just hand those out for a chess game."

Foreman slapped the Rubik's Cube onto the table.

Everyone eyed it, House took another slurp.

"Know what this is?" Foreman asked, raising an eyebrow.

House cocked his head, "The Magic Cube. Came out sometime in the late seventies, I think. I never had one. This girl I went out with in college used to play with it though."

"You ever play it?"

House shook his head and stole another fry; Wilson swatted his hand away again.

Foreman pulled out the timer, "Well let's see if you can beat my time, then."

House grinned and wiped his hands on Wilson's last napkin, "What's your time?"

"Uh uh, not telling unless you beat it. Chase and Cameron already know. What's the matter? Don't you think you can solve a simple children's puzzle and make all the pretty colours match?"

House's grin became positively wild, "And how much is this worth to you?"

"You beat my time; I take all your clinic hours for the rest of the week."

House picked up the cube and Foreman told Chase to start the timer, "Go."

In the time it took for Cameron to lean forward for a better view, House slapped the finished puzzle on the table.

Chase let out a choked noise, "Um that was 49.52 _seconds._"

House stole another fry but Wilson didn't even glance up from the cube. Which was what every one else was staring at.

"So, did I beat your time?" House asked, obviously aware that he had if the smug tone was any indication.

"Y-yeah. The World Record is less than ten." Foreman couldn't seem to take his eyes off the swash of red that topped the toy.

"Really? Can I borrow this?" House snatched it up without waiting for a reply, "I need _something _to do now that all those clinic hours are just working themselves."

And he was off like a three legged greyhound.

"What was your time Foreman?" Wilson asked, finally breaking the shocked silence.

"Two hours seven minutes and thirty-three seconds." Foreman said flatly. He decided not to mention the book.

XXXXX

House cornered Chase, the official Timer Guy, later that day and had whittled his solve time down to 23.49 seconds.

He did so again that evening as Chase was getting ready to leave. He'd more than halved the time again to 8.93 seconds. Which Chase was fairly certain beat the current world record from what he'd read online after the lunch game.

House absently handed Foreman the Cube before he left, clearly bored with it now.

"Well look at the bright side," Cameron offered, "Who knows what he would have been up to today. This distracted him a bit, didn't it?"

Foreman rolled his eyes, "I think I'm finally starting to understand the kind of effort this is going to require."

XXXXX


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, I'm adjusting to new meds. And after a season two marathon, I realised I left out Hindi as one of House's languages/ partial languages. I'll go back an edit it later.**

The drum kit showed up completely out of the blue. It was there, set up in House's office with a big red bow around it, when Foreman came in that morning.

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know, but it's SWEET! Do you think he'll let me try it out?" Kutner had his face pressed up against the glass.

"Great, another way for House to avoid work and be annoying. Cuddy is going to love it." This was Thirteen. Foreman did his best to avoid Thirteen. She rubbed him the wrong way somehow.

Taub offered nothing and continued to eat his bagel.

"Good morning, Angels." House paused in the act of taking off his backpack, "What do we have here?"

Foreman watched his reactions carefully, he was clearly surprised and more than a little confused at first. Then House's typical 'it's here therefore I deserve it' response to all new shiny things promptly asserted itself.

He was grinning and sitting down in three seconds flat. Foreman took off the bow, "Must be a gift from a patient."

House didn't seem to care, he was, however, very interested in the sticks resting on the snare drum. He flipped one in the air and caught it.

And then he played.

Foreman didn't know why he was surprised that House could play; it wasn't as though the man didn't bang around on everything he could. Kutner seemed to have reached some state of nirvana and Thirteen was pointedly covering her ears next door. Taub continued to eat his bagel.

Well played drums are not annoying things, though they all could have done without the rimshots whenever House got in a good line during the differential.

"What the hell are those doing here?" Cuddy sauntered in.

"Is this an existential question? I mean, why is anything here? Why are we here?" House kept up a softer, more conversational beat.

"We think they must have been a gift." Foreman showed her the bow.

"Obviously this entire floor of the hospital has seriously done something horribly wrong. What could we have done to deserve this?" Cuddy asked rhetorically.

"Come on, Cuddy. I can't get rid of a gift! That would be rude. I might hurt someone's feelings." House grinned; clearly the fact that they annoyed Cuddy had just made the drums even more valuable.

"Oh, Lord knows you never do that!" Cuddy snarked back, "Clinic. Now."

"Ah, Foreman, my mad skills at cube games means she's talking to you."

"As if I was going to forget." Foreman followed Cuddy out of the office and down the hall to the elevators.

"I really don't know where they came from." Foreman asserted still listening to the syncopated beats gradually getting softer.

The elevator opened and they both got in. The moment the doors closed however, Cuddy smiled, "I know you don't."

Foreman blinked and stared at her for a few seconds, "Oh, you're good."

"Think that'll keep him entertained for awhile?"

"Uh, yeah. Might also make Thirteen commit ritual suicide, though." Foreman added.

Cuddy shrugged, "Well, maybe then he can hire Cameron back."

"The plot thickens."

XXXXX

House was now fond of doing drum rolls when anyone came in with test results. Thirteen had developed a bothersome looking twitch but everyone else took it in stride.

The drums were proving to be an excellent outlet for all the frenetic energy House often displayed and so far all the chaos he created was now restricted to the more productive medical kind.

As they were conferring in the hall, Wilson paused, "You know, I just realized I'm probably listening to the best drum solo I'll ever hear. Kind of an odd arena for it, though."

Cuddy shrugged, "It's a sliding scale. Between the drums and House stirring up trouble just for the sake of it, it's a pretty easy call."

"Can't let him know that, though. Half his fun is that he thinks he's annoying you."

"Oh, I know." With that Cuddy burst into the office.

"WILL YOU GIVE THAT A REST? God, I can barely hear myself think! Your patient should have been discharged three hours ago, why is she getting a PET scan?"

House kept up a single rhythm and a cheeky grin, "Blood work lies. If I send her home she could come down with an acute case of death. Don't think there's a cure for that yet. Wait, let me Google it just to make sure."

"You're saying she's still sick? House, she's up and about. Her labs are perfect. You cured her, send her home."

"They look good now. They won't in… oh, about six hours. Want to wager on it?" He raised a perspective eyebrow.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "Fine. Keep her. Just wait until I get out of the room before-"

The drum solo recommenced. Cuddy let out a frustrated growl and swept back out into the hall.

"And the Academy Award goes to…" Wilson said softly.

Cuddy grinned, "I took drama in high school. Paid off, didn't it?"

XXXXX

Ten minutes after House was out the door saying something about a Colombo marathon, the five of them met in his office to discuss The Project.

"I think we did pretty well this week. We haven't had to deal with any depressive episodes, though. How are we going to handle those?" Chase toyed with the drumsticks on House's desk.

"I can take those, or, at least some of those. If I take them all with my usual alcohol solution I'll turn us both into AA fodder." Wilson replied, "I have experience with it anyway. He gets mellower if you feed him booze, it makes him talk more."

Chase licked his lips, "Um, I might be able to help to… but it's kind of unconventional."

Cuddy sighed, "Anything but heroin and I'll look the other way at this point."

Chase looked shocked, "God no, I just mean, you know… I have some pot connections. Not that I-"

"Chase, I don't care if you smoke it, just smoke it with him and see it if helps."

He sat back looking appeased and Cameron took over.

"So for his next challenge, I was thinking a language test. How fast and how thoroughly he can learn it and so on. Dr. Stalinski is a native speaker of Russian and he could be our tester."

"I can get a computer program and write it off as employee upgrade material." Cuddy nodded, "Why don't we let him pick the time frame? Say, if he can do it in three weeks its worth this much, but two weeks we double the amount."

"Great, this is good. But everybody keep brainstorming, we have to keep up." Wilson cautioned.

"You'd think it would be easier, I mean, there's five of us and only one of him." Foreman shook his head in amazement.

"I'm just impressed he hasn't figured any of this out yet. Count your blessings." Cuddy pulled on her jacket.

Chase put the sticks down carefully in the same position he'd found them, he realized he'd had one of House's beats in his head most of the day just from passing by at lunch. He wished he knew what it was from or if House had made it up.

XXXXX


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: I want someone to write a House/Sopranos crossover. I think House and Tony would get along. I could totally see Tony being fascinated with House's genius. I'd love it to slip into AU land and have House working as a mob doc who doubles as Tony's advisor. He could leave PPTH or not, I'm not fussy. With House's brain, New York would be less of a goal and more of a stepping stone. I wish I could do it really, but my Sopranos knowledge is too spotty and only half remembered. Someone should write this, damn it!**

Cuddy stood in the cryogenics lab that evening staring at a vial of frozen sperm.

After the miscarriage she'd been heartbroken and most of her had given up completely. The idea of having a child seemed so impossible then. She'd arrived home and found a little gift wrapped cup in her refrigerator. He'd left a little note, but he didn't have to, no one else would have ever been so bold.

She imagined he never thought she'd actually use it, probably just meant it as a supportive gesture.

But her time was running out and one last long shot seemed worth it. Even the twenty percent chance of the bipolar gene being passed on was not much of dissuasion. It tended to follow the mother's line much more anyway. Both House's parents were perfectly healthy. The odds were equally likely that she would pass on something just as bad, if not worse.

So she had made the in vitro appointment that afternoon and left it in the hands of fate. And she told absolutely no one.

XXXXX

Foreman knew exactly what kind of day it was going to be the minute he spotted House limping in.

The older doctor didn't greet anyone, didn't make a crack about Foreman's tie (he'd chosen his ugliest in hope that it might spark a conversation that could lead to a new challenge), and he didn't even glance at his drums.

Foreman immediately suggested the three new fellows make themselves useful elsewhere. They didn't have a case and would only irritate a depressive House.

Then he swung by Wilson's office to keep him abreast of a new situation.

Wilson sighed, "O.K. We'll give him space this morning. I'll try to coax him out at lunch and we'll play it by ear."

XXXXX

Foreman stuck to the conference room and kept one eye on the unusually darkened office while doing paperwork.

House spent nearly three hours staring out the window and barely moving. He could only see his face in profile and it was almost blank.

It was so quiet Foreman jumped at the sound of Cuddy's clicking heels approaching. God, he missed those damn drums. Or the guitar. Or even just the air guitar House sometimes mimed to The Who or the Stones. Anything at all would be better than this relentless silence. There was something unnatural about someone like House not making a lot of noise.

He met Cuddy in the hall and she suggested Chase if Wilson couldn't get him a bit more functional.

Foreman blinked at the encouragement the Dean of Medicine was giving illegal drugs, but paged the Australian without another thought.

They all convened in Cuddy's office, secure for once that House would be totally unaware of it.

"O.K, I'll bring in my lunch and see if I can get him to steal some that sometimes puts him in a good mood. Then, this afternoon, Chase should come in. Now remember what I said before about trying to be in his mindset? You've had a crappy day and you desperately need to unwind. You have pot, but no one smokes up alone. He'll take you up on it, trust me." Wilson advised tapping a pen against Cuddy's desk.

"How long can this last?" Cameron asked, "I really, really prefer him all manic and getting into trouble."

"So do I." Cuddy said, surprisingly, "When he's like this and something annoys him he can fly totally off the handle. Remember, we're all depressed. The world is a horrible place. Stay in the mindset and for God's sake keep Kutner away from him."

XXXXX

Wilson returned much too early from his mission, "No dice. He was completely uninterested in my burger, my shake, AND my fries. Chase, your shift needs to end early today. Even better, you've been up all night. Patients have died or abused you. Let me see it."

Chase found this no challenge at all, he wasn't faking very much. It was really just a matter of forgetting balance, which House didn't have.

"Christ, you look like him. Good work. Do you need any extra? We are running a medicinal marijuana trial next month." Wilson offered.

Chase kept it up and responded slowly, "No, I have plenty. For once."

They all wished him luck and Chase slinked out of Cuddy's office and down the hall.

XXXXX

He walked into House's office a collapsed onto his sofa, "Why is the world such complete crap?"

"Ask myself that everyday." House replied, his voice dull and expressionless.

"You work yourself to the bone and no one cares! They die or they live, sometimes I don't think I care anymore."

House made an agreement grunt. It was working. He wasn't being thrown out or shouted at.

He fished into his lab coat and pulled out a baggie, "Want to make the world go away for awhile?"

XXXXX

House could roll one handed; Chase found this out after they had already smoked a rather large blunt between them. It was an impressive skill.

Marijuana made him very mellow and relaxed, Chase sat beside him, their shoulders touching and felt really connected to his former boss in a way he never could before.

And it made House incredibly chatty, "I smoked pot for the first time when we were living in Jamaica. It was the late seventies and pesticides were probably the biggest risk. DDT was still all the rage, no one had figured out it might have side effects yet.

I used to play footie with a bunch of boys from school and afterward we'd go to the beach and light up. They were all Rastafarian wannabes; I was just willing to put up with all that Jah Love crap for the incredibly good grass."

Chase, who was more than a little stoned himself now asked, "Did you surf?"

"Every single day. You could catch waves there thirty or forty feet high, fifty or sixty after a storm. I started surfing in Australia when I was ten, never lost the taste for it."

This was what Chase had been waiting for, "You lived in Australia? What's all that rubbish about me being British then?"

House chuckled, "Because nothing pisses off an Aussie like being called a Brit."

"Of course," Chase rolled his eyes, "Did you like living there?"

"As much as I liked living anywhere, I suppose. New South Wales was a bit wilder back then. They've tamed it down for the tourists now. Seemed like everything could kill you. Every damn bug was poisonous. But you could say that about where we lived in Africa, too."

This was very good, if anyone slipped up now, Chase could say he mentioned this conversation, "What was Africa like?"

"It was home, I didn't know anyplace else. I was always running around, but I didn't really learn to RUN until we lived in Kenya. I suppose it was like constantly being on safari or something. I was stalked by hyenas once, but I knew what to do. My friends told me, you need to appear larger than you are so they won't attack. Elephants and hippos were way more dangerous."

"What about big cats?" Chase asked.

"The snakes were much more of a threat. When we were in the Congo one of my friends was killed by a Black Mamba. I saw it, huge thing, about thirteen feet. And they were aggressive, they wanted to bite you. And the venom, hah! One bite has enough to kill twenty full grown men, Maliki didn't stand a chance. That thing moved faster than anything I've ever seen. It could just as easily been me, he was just walking on the wrong side of the path."

"Whoa, um, sorry about your friend." Chase offered weakly.

"'S O.K, it was forty years ago now. You know, they didn't call it the Black Mamba because of the scales; they were a sort of greenish brown. It's the inside of the mouth that's black. Of course, the only people who got a good enough look back then rarely survived the encounter. But I saw it."

Chase accepted the freshly rolled joint and baptised it, "That's wild. What kind of venom was it? Hemotoxin?"

"No, neurotoxins and cardiotoxins. First he started to sweat buckets and drool, then convulsions, then he slipped into a coma and died. All in about ten minutes. Would have taken maybe twice as long in a grown man. We were only seven."

"There weren't any antivenins or anything?"

House snorted, "If there were any vials of SAMIR polyvalent antivenom in the Congo at all that that time, they would have been at the nearest army base about seventy miles north towards Brazzaville. And even then they wouldn't have given anything to Maliki, some poor black kid. I don't even think they would have given one to me and my father was a marine."

Chase puffed twice and passed, "The Congo was pretty dangerous then."

"Uh, yeah," House paused to inhale and few times and held it, speaking without exhaling, "It was the 1960s, do you have any idea what was going on then?"

Chase took the joint back and shook his head.

"Well, the Belgians had been there for a while with their rubber factories, three men in the village we lived in had lost hands to those bastards. And a man named Patrice Lumumba…"

XXXXX


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes: Can I just scream? GAHHHHH! Thank you. My computer ATE this chapter the first time around. I'm still incredibly upset about that. I had it exactly how I wanted it, too. I lost just about everything else, so House wasn't the only casualty. Anyway, I'm trying to rewrite this, let me know how it goes.**

What Chase had never mentioned to the others was that he had a rather large problem of his own. He was most eager to take on House Duty to get away from said problem. Oh, naturally he wanted to help, House had become a sort of surrogate father-slash- boss-slash-buddy.

But getting off the surgical floor was also a major perk.

His problem was Doctor Weaver. Doctor Weaver was one of his direct supervisors and openly gay. Now Chase had no problem with that, it was just the _touching_ and the innuendos that he couldn't seem to handle.

Doctor Weaver couldn't pass him a chart without caressing his wrist, couldn't slide by without rubbing up against him, and he was always saying things that made Chase distracted and uncomfortable.

After a harrowing experience in the locker room after a shower, Chase very nearly ran to Cuddy to complain. He had been thoroughly shaken and not a little scared. But the idea of being seen as a homophobe or even just whiney froze him in the hall.

Instead, he sat in the chairs just outside Diagnostics and listened to House lead his new fellows through a differential. Chase had never heard anyone describe House as soothing, but it certainly did the trick for him.

House had somehow come to mean 'safe' to Chase, he was well aware if he ever told anyone that they might just have him sectioned and in a pretty new jacket on the third floor, but hearing his familiar tones made him feel better nonetheless.

XXXXX

It was three days after he'd spent the evening with House on the balcony, and House wasn't quite up or down but a functioning in between. Everyone else seemed to be relaxing and enjoying the break for the time being.

But Chase was back to his original problem, he'd somehow let himself be cornered in the back hall between O.R 3 and 4. It was a dimly lit, lonely little stretch of hallway and Doctor Weaver was standing way too close.

He was cooing something about Chase's hair and Chase was desperately trying to find a way out when TWACK!

Suddenly he was staring at the length of House's cane. It was the older one with the blue flame designs, he noticed.

Doctor Weaver went the colour of new milk as House loomed over him, "My, you're standing awfully close!"

Chase had observed House's eyes well over the years because they could practically be classified as weapons. Right now they were clearly set on 'psychopathic lunatic.'

"I don't mean to interrupt what I'm sure is a deeply professional conversation, but I need to borrow my old buddy Chase! He used to work for me, you know. We talk about everything. We're tight like that." House demonstrated crossed fingers.

Doctor Weaver was attempting to get around House and his cane without actually breaking into a run, Chase could practically smell his fear. He knew House probably could.

"What is your name? Webber? Weaver? Something to do with a spider, anyway. Hey! Where are you going? We were having such a nice little chat! Don't worry; I'll come track you down later so we can finish up. I can see you have someplace else to be."

Weaver had given up all pretences and broke into a sprint; he collided with something or someone on the other side of the swinging doors because a cacophony of falling metal rang out.

Chase was trying to come up with something to say but House merely swung an MRI read out in front of his face and began talking about his patient's intracranial bleed.

House never so much as alluded to the incident again, but Doctor Weaver kept a distance of five to six feet if at all possible ever after.

XXXXX

Cuddy was just so very pissed off about the new carpets. It was four thousand dollars worth of new carpets to be exact.

Logically she knew it wasn't House's fault for once, if anything his bizarre allergic reaction had shown them that the stupid things weren't anywhere near as hypoallergenic as the company claimed.

Her inner lawyer also muttered that if it hadn't been House, it would have been a patient. A patient with an outer lawyer.

He'd come into work slightly manic and chipper and dissolved into a sneezing mess inside of ten minutes. All his sinuses had become inflamed and he'd ended up in a wheelchair for the day because his balance was completely shot.

"I'b fine. Continue wi' da differential!" He bellowed to his fellows as Foreman wheeled him out the door.

Cameron had volunteered to do the scratch tests and she patted the bed winningly, "Come one, big guy. Strip for me."

"How long hab you been waiting ta say dat?" House sniffed pulling off his Who t-shirt.

Cuddy made herself at home in a visitor's chair, she wanted to confirm this with her own eyes before she started making irate phone calls. Of course, watching House strip down to his boxer-briefs was nice, too. The man was very nicely made, she would give him that.

Cameron yanked his underwear back even further once she had him facedown on the bed.

He swatted her hand playfully, "Fresh!"

Foreman chuckled and rolled the instrument tray over.

But Cameron made no motion to pick up the needles; she'd gone quite pale staring at House's bared lower back. She looked up into Foreman's eyes and gestured with her head. He furrowed his brow and leaned over, then his eyes widened.

"I don't hab all day, people!" House muttered, eyes squinted shut against the obvious sinus pressure.

Cuddy wanted to ask, but she quietly got up instead to join the other two.

There were very old circular scars scattered across House's lower back, Cuddy doubted he was even aware of them. But they were too perfect and too evenly spaced to be anything but deliberate.

Cigarette burns.

"We're just making sure it's the damn carpets, House." Cuddy said, striving for a steady voice, "I'm not ripping them up unless you're so allergic you can't function."

House made some muffled response but Cuddy's attention had shifted from the hundred tiny circles to a scar on his hip, equally old and oddly shaped. It took her a full minute to realize it was a scar left by a belt buckle.

She could tell Cameron and Foreman were ahead of her already, Cameron picked up the testing box chart with shaking hands while Foreman was obviously cataloguing any other visible evidence he could find.

House's skin flared red in response to the carpet fibres but Cuddy was suddenly unconcerned with the possible budget hit.

XXXXX


	6. Chapter 6

Cuddy was glad House didn't know what they knew. The combination of the scars and how pitiful he looked at the moment, she would have let him get away with murder.

She shot him up with antihistamines and told him to go home. Foreman ended up driving him because his balance was still gone and he'd taken the bike in like he usually did.

Then she vented some frustrations out on the carpet company for the rest of the morning.

It had all distracted her very thoroughly and when she pulled out the pregnancy test from her purse she realized she hadn't thought about it once.

She chose a stall, peed on the stick and spent the required number of minutes staring at her watch and thinking that this would be the very last time.

When she saw that it was positive she nearly dropped it in the toilet.

XXXXX

Foreman, in retrospect could not recall what House had done to inspire the argument. He remembered defending his boss, not nearly as adamantly as he should have. But he definitely remembered the aftermath.

It was Thirteen of course, in what Foreman now knew as the beginning of the end.

They were facing each other in the conference room; her back had been to the door. Which had given Foreman a front row seat to House's expression when he walked in to hear her saying:

"House is a disease, Foreman. It's merely a matter of how much exposure you've had. You've been here the longest so…"

Evidently Kutner's almost comically wide eyes had given her a clue and she turned sharply in horror. House had already schooled his face to reflect cold amusement by then. But it hadn't been schooled before. It had been open and, well, hurt. Not really surprising, most people would be devastated to hear themselves described that way.

But House used self-depreciation daily. He had no reaction at all when people called him insane, a jerk, an ass, a cripple, whatever. But this had hit home.

XXXXX

"That bitch!" Cameron fumed, getting raised eyebrows from the other four in the room, "Why hasn't he fired her yet? She killed that guy and his dog, she's obviously got no respect for him, and she's not THAT smart."

"If Thirteen goes, will you step up like we discussed?" Cuddy asked, "Two assistant department heads are better than one."

"Of course I will, if only to keep him from hiring another one of those. And the ER gets old fast. I miss the game, isn't that crazy? I remember when it was going on my heart would pound a mile a minute and my thoughts would race so fast… even the ER can't do that the way House could. It's addictive."

"What do you think, Foreman? Will House fire her?" Chase asked.

"No, she'll crack first. She fought hard to get this spot but her performance since has been shoddy. But then, I've never seen House hurt before. Emotionally hurt, I mean. What can we expect?" He directed this to Wilson.

"I can count the number of times I've actually hurt him on one hand. He never did a thing. You get in his way, he'll run over you. You mess with his "territory" and he'll destroy you. But emotional hurt, he never even yelled at me. This of course made me feel a thousand times worse." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck.

"I don't know. This isn't like a verbal battle he can engage in. She managed to hit on something that he believes about himself. She dehumanized him and made him into something he fights for a living. He's an infectious disease specialist, for Christ's sake!"

"Cameron was right, she _is_ a bitch." Cuddy muttered petulantly.

"Oh, just let her say something like that in front of me." Cameron fumed, "And where were you, Foreman? Why the Hell didn't you rip her to pieces?"

"In front of House? Come on, you know how pissed off he would be if I tried to fight his battles. He doesn't think he needs anyone to defend him. Not even in court!" Foreman argued.

"What did he say? Right after, I mean?" Chase asked.

"Nothing. He started talking about the case as if nothing happened. That's how you know it's real. If he makes jokes about it, that's one thing. But if he pretends it never happened…" Foreman folded his arms and leaned back.

"Well, he was in a funk when I walked by earlier." Chase said finally.

"I'll stop at the liquor store on my lunch break." Wilson replied, "Haven't taken that route yet. God, I wish faking depression was more difficult. It's scary how easy it is to get there, isn't it?"

Everyone nodded and made leaving noises.

"I better go make sure Kutner doesn't set anyone else on fire." Foreman slung on his lab coat.

Cuddy groaned, "Only House could find someone to hire that's a bigger legal liability than he is."

XXXXX

House was actually very good company when he was drunk, much more so than when completely sober.

Alcohol tended to make him more concerned about other people's feelings, Wilson had no idea why. It used to make him wish House was an alcoholic instead of a narcotic addict.

With his new knowledge of House's major affliction, Wilson could now chart out his response to alcohol in all of his varying states. When he was manic, it made him goofy and playful. When he was depressed he was in a conversational mood. He wanted to hear about all of Wilson's problems. It took some convincing to get him to talk about his own.

Wilson tossed back another shot, his fifth and House's seventh. Already the world was getting pleasantly softer.

Foreman came in, Wilson blinked rapidly at his sudden appearance. Maybe he'd better slow it down.

"Foreman," House began, using that very precise way of speaking he only employed when drunk, "Take a load off, have a drink."

"What's the occasion?" Foreman asked, accepting both the chair and the shot glass.

"Wilson bought booze. There doesn't need to be any more of an occasion than that." House picked up his guitar, it was a Martin acoustic he'd special ordered not very long ago by Wilson's estimation.

"What's going on?"

Wilson jumped, where had Chase come from? He really shouldn't have any more, certainly not on an empty stomach anyway. House had always been able to drink him under the table.

Foreman threw back a third shot, "Wilson bought booze."

Chase took the last chair and accepted an improvised shot glass, which was one of House's pilfered drug rep mugs. This one was for Prozac, ironically.

House was picking out a Clapton number, Wilson was fairly certain. He thought about asking but even inebriated, House was quite capable of being ashamed to know him.

"Play me something." He requested suddenly, remembering how much easier it was to get things from House in his current state.

House didn't look up, "What? You want a lullaby?"

"Yes," Wilson said, "I've had an incredibly crappy day. Sing me a lullaby."

Apparently it was that simple, because House changed the tune and started singing.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly,_

_All your life,_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arrive._

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see,_

_All your life,_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

Somehow, he kept forgetting how absolutely beautiful House's singing voice was. It heard it so rarely, and even then usually only in jest.

But it was almost absurdly lovely, perfectly accompanied by his effortless guitar playing.

He should be on stage somewhere, Wilson thought, or in a studio recording it.

When House finished the song he grinned and cupped his hands together, blowing in them or something, it created a bird's twittering call.

"Feel better?" House asked and Wilson nodded numbly. Well, he did.

"Can I have a lullaby too?" Cameron was standing in the doorway looking riveted and a little misty eyed. Wilson hoped this wasn't a fresh upsurge in her crush.

House looked drunkenly contemplative, "Well, I'd play Van Morrison but your eyes are green. What do you want?"

"The Beatles are good. I like 'Yesterday.'" Cameron offered hopefully.

House's fingers were already playing the opening bars even as he was nodding in agreement.

_Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away._

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay._

_Oh, I believe in yesterday….._

XXXXX


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I should mention anyone wanting to see incomparable Hugh Laurie do a great deal of singing and playing should watch his early series 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie'. In fact, I think it should be required viewing right along with Monty Python's Flying Circus. I think it's the first episode of series three where he does 'Love Me Tender'. I don't care if he's being funny; the man's voice is panty remover.**

**Other pieces of note are: The Sophisticated Song, There Ain't But One Way (Kickin'Ass), Mystery, I Don't Have a Clue (The Protest Song), America, Little Girl, Too Long Johnny (the one where he's channelling a blind black man from the south or something. Brilliant.), I'm In Love with Steffie Graff, and he does Hey Jude in a chipmunk's voice at some point in series three.**

**A lot of this can be found on YouTube, I've checked for you. You can find a lot of the full episodes posted on Veoh TV, if you want to bother downloading that. Otherwise, the DVDs rock!**

XXXXX

The knowledge of her current state impeded her ability to think about anything else. All day her thoughts had been _have to get House to hire Cameron as assistant department head and I'm pregnant. Have to call the law firm about the new malpractice litigation in Radiology and I'm pregnant. Have to type up my budget presentation for next week's meeting and I'm pregnant._

She was terrified that this had taken. She realized now she never believed it would, the gesture had been almost symbolic, one last parting shot.

It had taken once before and she had lost it. Her body hadn't been sufficient. She had _failed._

If that happened again… it didn't bare thinking about because that was the way to madness.

When she heard the guitar music and the singing she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

House, his fingers moving over the frets and strings as if he'd been born with a guitar attached. And his voice, rich and melodic sending shivers up and down her spine.

Foreman, Cameron, Chase, and Wilson were all seated around him like children, clearly enraptured. She stood in the doorway and marvelled at this man once more.

_Let me take you down,_

_Cause I'm going to_

_Strawberry fields_

_Nothing is real,_

_Nothing to get hung about,_

_Strawberry fields forever._

_Living is easy with eyes closed,_

_Misunderstanding all you see,_

_It's getting hard to be someone_

_But it all works out_

_It doesn't matter much to me._

She put one hand over her still flat stomach, really understanding her own undertaking for the first time. She wanted this child more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

XXXXX

Thirteen quit on a Monday afternoon a week or so after the 'House is a disease' incident. She dropped her resignation letter on his desk and waited for a reaction, any reaction.

House didn't even glance up from the computer screen. Cameron had challenged him two days before and Cuddy had gotten in on the wager. If he could manage to learn Russian in a week, he had two hundred dollars in his pocket and two weeks off clinic duty.

"Did you hear what I said?" Thirteen demanded.

House finally paused the monologue he was listening to and raised one head phone, "I can't take it anymore, something along those lines? BORING! Go, be free. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

And he resumed the listening exercise; Thirteen stared at him in disbelief before shaking her head and gathering her things.

Foreman looked up from the charts he was filling in, he really couldn't wait until Cameron was back to take on some of this, "Have a pleasant life."

"Unbelievable. I hope you realize you'll all be lunatics just like him the longer you stay."

"Yeah, but _genius_ lunatic is way better than ordinary person. Well, its way more interesting anyway." Kutner offered.

"Just keep telling yourselves that." Thirteen muttered, "Being just a little smarter doesn't make you better than everyone else. It certainly doesn't mean you can just ignore the rules."

Foreman put down the chart, "Just keep telling yourself he's 'just a little bit smarter' if it makes you feel better, but don't make me listen to it. I know otherwise. And I've never heard him say he's 'better' than anyone. I've heard him say his diagnosis is better, his medicine is better, even once that his driving is better. All sorts of things he can do are 'better' than anyone else. But he's never claimed superiority. And sometimes the rules do need to be ignored. Now, like I said, have a pleasant life. Away from here."

And Foreman picked up his charts again and resumed filling them in.

XXXXX

"House!" Cuddy shouted for the third time.

He finally typed a few keys and took off the headphones, "You're interfering with the wager! I demand you talk with my bookie!"

"Three minutes are not going to make a big difference; you've been at this for three days. I've barely seen you move."

"For all you know, you've totally destroyed my ability to use the past participle." House folded his arms sulkily, "I'm going to win."

"Of course you are. Listen, you need to hire another female." Cuddy mimicked his pose.

"Why? They just keep leaving me; I can only take so much rejection. How can I ever love again?" He flashed her pitiful baby blues.

"Because having an all male department, while I give you HUGE kudos for ethnic diversity, is really, really not a good idea. You can't have your little man party with no estrogen to balance it out legally."

"But hiring means I have to look at resumes and schedule interviews and can't I just fire everybody again and do it all myself?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "Look, I've increased the department budget again. You can hire a second assistant department head and another fellow. In fact, once you hire the other assistant head _they _can hire another fellow. One hire, no more reading fellowship resumes or doing interviews ever again."

House looked sulky, "Yeah, and who am I going to find to equal Foreman?"

Cuddy smiled.

XXXXX

"Wow," said Cameron accepting her half of the paperwork, "It's like I never left."

"Yeah, well, welcome back. I know _I'm_ glad to see you." Foreman offered.

Cameron gestured with her head to House in his office, apparently reading an entire English/Russian dictionary page by page, "What about him?"

"He never wanted you to leave in the first place, remember? Bring him a sandwich the way you used to and you'll be his favourite again."

"_I _always thought you were his favourite." Cameron grinned, getting down to work.

"What about Dr. Chase? Was he ever the favourite?" Kutner asked slapping down yet another chart that needed completing.

"Sometimes." Cameron and Foreman chorused and shared a fond look.

"Daddy loves you all the same, now where's my new toy-I mean patient." House said suddenly over them making everyone jump.

As he stalked towards the pile of files on the conference table Cameron remarked, "See? It's like I never left."

XXXXX


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: In regards to the fellows, I personally don't really **_**dislike**_** Thirteen. She's just always struck me as incredibly hostile towards House. That I didn't like. My favourites were actually Kutner and Cut-throat Bitch (though I have to find out what she's going to do to Wilson before I say I **_**like **_**like her.) I have no feelings either way about Taub, he's older and has a bit of an ego problem which I think will make him clash with House over and over in amusing ways.**

**I guess I just got the sense from Thirteen that not only did she not like House; she didn't respect him, like Cameron said. Which is really much more important. But then, this part of the story would probably be completely different if we'd gotten to know the new characters better. Damn Writer's strike! I agreed with it completely, but holy Hell did it ever mess up the season!**

**Anyway, I didn't mean to villianize her, SupportSeverusSnape, I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I just don't think she should be working for him, I thought CTB would have been the better choice, but I can't really go in the direction because of how the show ended.**

**And because I never know when to shut up: DragonHunter200, the Control and Tony sketches are my favourites after Hugh's musical numbers, which are yours?**

**XXXXX**

When Dr. Stalinski tested House, she was under the impression that he had been studying Russian for _years_.

Dr. Stalinski told them his Cyrillic penmanship was flawless, his accent distinctly St Petersburg, and he'd told several rather funny jokes. His vocabulary was that of a native speaker, and he hadn't once made a grammatical error. He'd had an impressive grasp of slang and colloquial expressions, euphemisms, and various narrative styles.

He'd also pointed out several typos and errors in the various Russian medical journals he'd been reading as 'practice', and correctly answered a great many highly technical questions without hesitation and offered his own opinions on the subjects.

When they told him that the week before Dr. House's grasp of Russian had been about forty words and three phrases (something he'd listed when Cameron had asked at the time) he was absolutely shocked.

"I thought for certain he must have lived there and it must have been recently. How is this possible? My language is very complex, I assure you. It is like English, yes? Very subtle and it has many layers."

They all shrugged at him helplessly, unable to say anything other that the usual, "That's House."

Cuddy was beginning to wonder if House would ever set foot in the clinic again. Then she remembered the sort of things House got up to in the clinic. Maybe limiting his time there in discretion was the better part of valour.

And it wasn't as though they weren't making him work for it. Learning an entire language in a week had even made House roll up his sleeves. Sure it would have been impossible for anyone else, but House had actually had to put effort into that.

It was possible the first time she'd ever seen House have to _work_ at anything.

Meanwhile, she was still pregnant with his child.

And she was doing everything every recommended by anyone to avoid another miscarriage. Supplements: check. Dietary Tips: check, ALL of them. Rest: check. Yoga and Meditation: check. Avoiding Stress: check, even easier now that they were keeping House occupied.

Every day became a miniature goal as one more day she didn't miscarry. Ending every week was becoming a major triumph. At this rate she might make it to her first ultrasound.

XXXXX

Cameron handed over the two hundred dollars with a smile.

"Большое спасибо. Ваш вызов был большим, но я больше." House pocketed it.

"Now you're just showing off." Cameron muttered, "We're going to find something, someday that you can't do."

"I'm betting you run out of limits before I do." House lean back looking exceedingly satisfied with himself.

"Hah, we had you working for this one."

"O.K. You try to learn a language with no work." House raise a defensive eyebrow.

"This isn't about what I can and cannot do, this is about you. Cracks in the perfection, House."

House had already cranked his IPOD and the Kinks blared out, "WHAT?"

Cameron shook her head and started planning.

XXXXX

"We need to convince him to take an I.Q. test." Cameron began, once Chase had finally joined them.

They had to keep finding times and places where House would neither be looking for them nor wondering about them, not an easy prospect. Though his fellows tended to keep him busy; since one of them always seemed about to burn the building the down and the other was always about to mutiny.

Today House had a particularly intriguing case and was overseeing Taub's surgical procedure on said case. The oncology lounge was a good place not to run into him for the time being.

"And how are we going to manage that? You heard the guy before, he doesn't even believe in them." Foreman argued.

"Oh, but aren't you just DYING to know?" Cameron countered, "I mean, mine's decently high, how much higher is his? Twenty points? Thirty?"

They all eyed one another as though playing intellectual roulette.

Cuddy broke the silence, "145."

Wilson said, almost apologetically, "149."

Chase muttered, "141."

Cameron stated, "143."

Foreman sounded positively smug, "151."

"And we all know he's WAY smarter than any of us. His could be 175 for all we know. I have to know. There HAS to be a way." Cameron continued feeling a bit relieved that all the I.Q laundry had been aired. They were all nearly in the same percentile anyway.

Cuddy pulled her hair back, "You're right, I have to know, too."

XXXXX

"House!" Foreman gave him a big smile, "This is Dr. Bowring."

House put his Fender Stratocaster onto its stand and reluctantly shook the woman's hand; he eyed the new arrival along with all five of his ducklings, Wilson, AND Cuddy.

"Dr. Bowring is a world renowned psychiatrist and I.Q. testing expert." Cuddy continued.

"Oh, a shrink peddling standardized tests. No, thanks." House moved to pick up his guitar again.

"One month off clinic duty." Cuddy stated firmly, and enjoyed watching him freeze in place, "And you give it your best effort."

Suddenly House was in a much more pliable mood, "I can't believe any of you believe in this garbage."

"It doesn't matter; all you have to do is take a couple of tests. If you don't believe in what the tests show, than we won't tell you." Cameron cajoled expertly.

"I don't, and please don't." House replied, "Fine, bring it on, Dr. Laura. I think I'd take Inorganic Chemistry again just to get out of clinic."

XXXXX


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: You're right, Thirteen was used as a vehicle to get Cameron back (BUT since they never changed the opening credits, I'm assuming she's not going anywhere on the show either) I don't like or dislike Cameron, I use her shamelessly, however, just like the writers on the show. I'm sure the reason I wanted Cameron to also be a permanent department member is obvious, it facilitates my agenda.**

**Basically, I'm all about House. Everyone else is fun, but not essential. I use them to bring things out in House, and in this case I use them to help House.**

**House and Cuddy are actually the only two characters I've ALWAYS loved, through thick and thin, never faltered. I went back and forth with Wilson and the ducklings so many times, it's ridiculous. And I'll tell you right now, I couldn't STAND Stacy or her irritating husband, those two deserve each other.**

**I should also mention, I don't think they'll be any shipping in this story at all. If you feel strongly about this, let me know because I could go in any direction. Shutting up now.**

**XXXXX**

House spent the morning in the conference room with Dr. Bowring. It was agreed it was a better local, his office had all his toys in it and they needed him above distraction.

Everyone found an excuse to pass by. When both Cameron and Foreman passed he was writing both times. They estimated that would have been over an hour and a half of written work.

When Cuddy passed on her way to the ladies to take another pregnancy test (this would be the third, she wanted to make sure it stuck) he was being shown cards.

When Wilson passed by from a clinic consult House was clearly being timed and drilled verbally but he still looked pretty interested.

And when Chase finally made it up, House was either writing or drawing, it wasn't clear.

Wilson was paged at 1:45: STARVING CAFÉ NOW. He assumed House had finished.

House was his usual manic self, utterly unaffected by the obviously intense testing he'd just been through. Dr. Bowring had told them they would have the results by the end of the day.

Wilson couldn't believe how on edge he was personally waiting for what the psychiatrist had to say.

"So was the test hard?" He tried, ignoring House's theft of his chips.

House rolled his eyes, "It's just a game, Jimmy. Once you figure out the parameters, it's no challenge at all."

Wilson blinked because he distinctly remembered sweating over his own I.Q. test back in medical school. It hadn't seemed very fun.

Then again, that was House. For all they knew he might have a lower than usual score because his particular brand of genius wasn't testable or something. Wilson shrugged and let House steal one of his cookies.

XXXXX

When the RESULTS IN page Cuddy sent around hit, six doctors dropped everything they were doing and made their way to her office at one mach less than a sprint.

Dr. Bowring was smiling and looked almost twitchy, "O.K. Technically I can't actually give you a solid number."

Everyone, sitting at the edge of their seats, practically sagged.

"What?"

"Wait, aren't you the best? Cuddy said she got the best!"

"Dr. Bowring, I have to say-"

The psychiatrist held up her hand for silence, "I really can't give you one solid number because Intelligence Quotients over 200 points are considered technically immeasurable."

There was one perfect moment of silence. Broken by Kutner a minute later

"Holy crap."

"Yeah, that was kind of my reaction, too." Dr. Bowring opened up the file on her lap and slid it across the desk at a stunned looking Cuddy, "The best I can do is give you a projection. He beat the tests, of course, and then I can use the creativity of his answers and the speed of his responses to give you a range. Dr. House's I.Q. falls somewhere in the 225-250 spectrum."

"But there was a record holder, the Savant woman…" Foreman interjected.

"Marilyn vos Savant was listed as having the world's highest I.Q in the 1980s, we've since learned that an I.Q score that high is almost impossible to accurately calculate. Her score has been listed as 228 and 230, but it could be higher, we don't know."

"So, House is… what kind of percentile is this?" Chase asked trying to get a look at the answers House had written down.

"These results place him in a group of maybe half a dozen intellectual equals."

"In the country or…" Cameron asked.

"In the world."

There was another moment of perfect silence as everyone present absorbed this. Then Dr. Bowring spoke again, "I'm actually amazing at how well he functions. A lot of highly intelligent people simply can't interact with society at all. It's like they see more of what's wrong then we do. It drives them crazy. And they get incredibly frustrated dealing with people who seem so stupid to them, but of average intelligence to anyone else. But he deals with all of you on a daily basis?"

At their stunned nods she added, "You should all get yourselves tested again. One of the benefits to working with a genius, it makes you smarter."

"Really?" Chase asked.

"Oh, yes. They teach us to think in different ways, that makes new neural pathways and speeds up brain function over all. We see proximity intelligence jumps all the time, as many as fifteen or twenty I.Q. points. Have you noticed that he gets less frustrated with you over time?"

Chase nodded emphatically, he'd been on his own for six months before House had hired Cameron. At the beginning House berated him all the time, but that _had_ tapered off after the first few months. He realized now, House hadn't gotten more tolerant, _he'd _just gotten smarter.

"Well, I didn't give House the Sanford-Binet, that's for measuring average range I.Q.'s and I knew I needed something much higher functioning to get his attention, but I brought some with me. If you all want to take the test I can leave them here and you can fax them to me. You'll have your results by the weekend."

"Dr. Bowring, I want to thank you for doing this. I know House isn't the easiest to get along with." Cuddy stood to shake her hand, still looking flustered.

"Oh, no, thank you. This is a once in a lifetime tester. I'm just glad to be the one to record it all. He's absolutely amazing. You're lucky to have him."

Cuddy smiled, "Yes, yes we are."

Wilson held the door open for her and said a pleasant goodbye, then sat back down as though his legs had given out.

"Holy crap." Kutner said again.

"Seriously, you guys," Cuddy said suddenly, looking a little wild eyed, "House CANNOT know about this."

"He already said he didn't care about the results." Cameron replied.

"Whatever he said never mind. He literally CANNOT find out about this. Can you imagine trying to work with him if he KNOWS he's like the smartest person in the country?" Cuddy slammed the folder shut, "And I need to hide this in Fort Knox."

"If House said he didn't care, he probably doesn't." Foreman added looking at the stack of Sanford-Binets.

"Besides, House already thinks he's the smartest guy ever." Kutner added.

"Yeah. But thinking it and KNOWING it are two different things. This information does not leave this room, understood?" Cuddy looked at them all one by one.

"Yeah."

"Uh, huh."

"Don't worry."

"Got it."

"Yes, ma'am.

"Right."

XXXXX

They all exited Cuddy's office and found House leaning over the balcony with a laser pointer 'snipering' off imaginary targets.

Wilson realized he would never understand the nature of genius.

XXXXX


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: I was having a crap week, too, Viskii. I'm glad my little story brightened yours.**

**Chowrie, House/Wilson is actually the direction I'm seriously hoping the actual show will go. That last episode was just SO slash ridden. I'm betting House left the bar so quickly because he had a little epiphany of his own. Thirteen's bisexuality might just be foreshadowing for House's, there was no other reason to bring it up.**

**As for this story, I just don't feel it yet. Maybe it's because I write so episodically and there's so much that goes on (i.e. actual medical cases) in between. Hmmm, we'll see.**

**XXXXX**

"So did the shrink give you all the safe little numbers and statistics that you needed?" House asked them hall, turning around and pocketing the laser pointer. He fished around and pulled out some change and began to count it.

"You seriously don't care what the results are?" Kutner asked, earning himself a kick in the shin from Cameron.

House glanced up, "Nope, does anyone have any quarters?"

Wilson, Chase, and Kutner offered several and House step-tapped his way to the vending machines down by the elevators.

Everyone watched him go in silence and they all heard, "YES! Ring Dings!" a few moments later.

"You know what's really scary?" Wilson asked suddenly, "The most brilliant mind in the country lives on take-out, peanut butter, and vending machine fodder. And _I'm_ always the one who supplies the take out. I don't think I've ever seen him so much as toast bread."

"We should all be writing memoirs about him, you know." Cameron added, "I'm going through all my journals, I bet I'd make a fortune."

Then she turned to Foreman and glared, "And EVERYONE heard me call it this time."

XXXXX

"It's mandatory for all department heads and assistant department heads, House." Cuddy mimicked his folded arms stance in an effort to find his 'zone'. Perhaps she'd been reading a bit too much of the seminar material.

"It's a bunch of New Age hippie BS masquerading as professional communication. I'm not going. Cameron and Foreman can go."

"House, all you have to do is listen to a few pretty speeches and do a couple of exercises and your free for the next YEAR. It's a full afternoon off work."

"No, it's a full afternoon where I'm trapped in a room full of people, most of whom I can't stand and can't stand me, listening to a guy talk about 'self-actualization'. What does that even _mean_?" House huffed flipping open a medical journal in what looked like Hindi. Cuddy really hoped he wasn't after someone's drug trials again.

"Cameron, Foreman, Wilson, and I all have to go."

"_That _is not a reason for me to go. _That _is a reason for me to laugh at you all and go to the track."

Cuddy massaged her temples, she didn't even have the clinic as a bargaining chip right now thanks to the I.Q challenge of two weeks before, "If you go you get an automatic yes for whatever MEDICAL thing you ask me for next."

Well at least that caught him, "Anything? No matter what it is?"

"Anything."

XXXXX

House actually didn't do too badly. Cameron and Foreman flanked him on either side, Wilson sat directly behind and Cuddy took the direct front. He was surrounded and that limited the damaging commentary anyway, mostly because they were the only ones to hear it.

He did get swatted by Cuddy more than once for heckling the motivational speaker, but over all he really was on his best behaviour.

Until the final exercise anyway, it was an old standard and no one else saw anything sinister whatsoever. House on the other hand resolutely refused.

"NO!" He burst out finally after merely standing back and shaking his head.

Wilson leaned in, "It's just a trust exercise, House. You fall backwards and I catch you and-"

"No! That's it, I'm out of here." And he bolted.

Everyone was whispering and Cuddy used her administrative glare to cut back on the chatter, "O.K. Get back to the exercise, people."

"What's wrong? He was really freaked out." Cameron whispered.

"Does he seriously think one of us is going to let him fall?" Foreman asked incredulous and not a little hurt.

"I don't know, maybe it's the leg. If he falls, he's in a lot of pain versus a regular person." Wilson offered, looking quite hurt himself.

At least the seminar was wrapping up; the speakers were all promoting their CD sets and workbooks, Cuddy checked her watch, "O.K. I'll finish here and you all go track him down."

XXXXX

They found House flipping through files in the conference room, obviously trying to find something interesting despite the fact that the day was essentially over.

"Hey, you missed getting a great deal on 'What Color Is My Parachute?'" Wilson quipped.

In their mini-conference in the hallway it had been decided not to make too big a deal out of this.

"I can always borrow your copy. You know, if I ever need to prop up a leg of my piano." Was House's rejoinder, and he didn't look up to deliver it, "How do you want to die?"

Wilson was used to bizarre questions from House, but this one still threw him for a loop. He looked over at the wide-eyed stares of Cameron and Foreman and stuttered, "Um, painlessly and in my sleep like everyone else I guess."

"I want to die mysteriously. I want my death to baffle the great minds of science for decades." House said leaning back in his chair.

"Do you think about this often?" Wilson hazarded.

House snorted, "I'm not suicidal. Suicide's pretty easy to figure out. No, it would have to be some kind of freak accident or maybe murder."

"Can we not talk about your demise? Strangely enough I find it upsetting." Wilson tried to combine sarcasm with truth so House couldn't accuse him of being sappy.

"What about you, Foreman? Are you going the wimp route?"

Foreman shook his head, "I honestly haven't given it much thought. I don't know, carbon monoxide poisoning seems like a good way to go."

House shook his head, "Meh, heroin overdose would be way better."

"O.K. I'm officially playing the girly card. If you keep talking like this, I will cry." Cameron slammed her hand down on the table.

House sighed and got up, "Fine, see you tomorrow."

All three watched him pack up his toys and put on his coat.

It took Wilson several minutes after House had left to put it together, "He just totally played us. He completely got out of talking about what happened back there by shocking us with something else."

Foreman shook his head, "I better have gotten smarter, because there is no way I can stay on top of him without some kind of edge."

Cameron sighed, "Did you do the test, too? Chase and I sent ours in last week."

Foreman and Wilson both nodded.

Cuddy opened the door, "Did you find out what that was all about?"

All three hung their heads a bit.

Hands on her hips, Cuddy let them have it, "How long have you known him? What did he say to change the subject?"

"He started talking about death, what were we supposed to do?" Cameron argued.

"NOT fall for one of his smokescreens."

"Don't worry, I corner him tomorrow." Wilson promised, already planning witty comebacks. To House they were spontaneous, _he _had to work at it.

XXXXX


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Dearest DragonHunter, you need to re-read the beginning of Chapter Four. House left Cuddy a little present. And John and Peter grew on me very quickly. I would love to hear House shout out 'MARJORIE' just once for old time's sake. Sigh Stephen Fry MUST guest star, how has this not happened yet?**

**Also, because I.Q.'s fascinate me even though, like House, I'm not sure I believe in them, the strange case of William James Sidis. A prodigy who attended Harvard at the age of eleven had an estimated I.Q. of 250-300. He spoke forty languages, taught geometry for less than a year and published a series of political pamphlets. That's it. He essentially withdrew from general society believing it not ready for his ideas.**

**He was probably right.**

**Viskii, I would love for you to point out any typos, continuity or factual errors, anything at all you see wrong with the story. I don't use beta readers, mostly because I'm a manic freak when I'm writing and have no patience. So after the fact editing is all I can do. Thank you very much for offering.**

**God, I ramble, don't I?**

**XXXXX**

Wilson spent several anxious hours trying to find House the next day. He wasn't in his office banging away on his drums, he wasn't in the conference room scrawling symptoms on the white board and berating his employees' theories. He wasn't eating an early lunch with Coma Guy or tormenting Cuddy.

He found him in the last place anyone would think to look.

House was in the clinic waiting area playing the blues on a steel guitar. He had an open case in front of him full of change and was wearing the sort of get-up best described as 'homeless chic.' He had some kind of professional harmonica holder in front of his face and would pucker up and play it between scraps of something called _Hootchie Cootchie Man._

He also had found himself quite an avid audience. Of course he had, he was absolutely amazing and he knew it.

"I can't wait to hear the explanation for this one." Cuddy said, coming up to stand next to him.

_Baby please don't go_

_Baby please don't go_

_Baby please don't go down to New Orleans_

_Because I love you so…_

XXXXX

"I forgot my wallet." House said absently as he gathered up change and dollar bills from the guitar into a coffee cup.

"But you remembered the guitar?" Wilson wondered if continuing the questioning was even worth it.

"It was already in the back seat of the 'vette in the parking garage."

"Uh huh, did you think of maybe the half dozen or so people who regularly hand you money without question?" Wilson ventured.

"What's the fun in that?" He shook the coffee cup, "I _earned_ this."

XXXXX

Cameron had spent most of the night pouring over her journals of the last four years; she would have to request all the old charts from Cuddy to make sure she didn't miss any details. She was going to record the man _and _the medicine.

Because someone had to, House was just born to be a legend. If you didn't record legends they became merely myths and only held a fraction of their original power.

She had Chase to help her at home; she already had him writing down his own anecdotes of his time with House before she was hired. She would get Foreman to help her at work even though his name would have to be on any published covers.

When she began this, she didn't even know if she would ever be able to publish within House's life time, but she hoped so. She hoped that someday she could hand him the four or five volumes it was going to take to record the time the four of them spent together.

She blushed when she encountered the steamier accounts, descriptions of House that were more of a… physical nature. Some of that would have to be included to be accurate, but some serious editing would take place.

She wished she could do a more complete biography, but the information she was _supposed_ to have and the information she did were two different things. It was a pity, House's childhood and adolescence seemed like it would just as exciting as his medical career if not more.

She opened a page of a brown suede journal she half-remembered and smiled at the opening page.

_Life Lessons from Dr. Gregory House._

This was the point where she had realized how much House was actually teaching them, before this point she'd been floundering and just running around in circles trying to keep up. But then it all clicked and she'd used this book to decode House-speak.

_Lessons in the Practice of Medicine from Dr. Gregory House._

That was the next section; it too was numbered lists of interpretative understanding.

_The World According to Dr. Gregory House._

These could almost be small books of their own, she realized, at the very least they could be articles.

The magnitude of what she was trying to do hit her suddenly, but then so did the epic nature and the _rightness_ of it. She would be the one telling his story, and in his story, because of him, thousands of others would have stories told.

Sure the numbers of cases they'd had were only in the hundreds now, but what about five years from now?

She got up and dug through the album on her bookshelf to uncover the photographs of House taken by Emma the professional photographer while they were treating her. They were stark black and white and absolutely beautiful. His eyes, even though the coloring was not present, were still arresting and incredibly deep.

"Are you going to try and get Wilson and Cuddy to write parts?" Chase asked, coming up behind her to peer at the photos.

"Of course, I just wish I could do MORE, not just his medical career but his whole life." Cameron sighed.

"Well, give it some time. We'll all do our best with this part. With House, who knows what will turn up tomorrow?"

"Let me read what you have so far." Cameron requested, and as she began it she knew this was what would begin their first book.

_I was the first fellow Dr. House hired. Lisa Cuddy had become Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital the year before and she was the one to give House his Diagnostics Department._

_Such a department didn't exist then and would have been considered experimental at best. Now they seem to be cropping up all over the world and there is no doubt in my mind that every last one was modeled after ours, modeled after Dr. House's method of Differential Diagnosis._

_I was desperate to escape Australia and my father's long shadow and New Jersey seemed like a haven to me. When Dr. House told me he'd hired me because my father made a phone call I very nearly stormed out._

_Until he told me that my father had practically ordered him NOT to hire me…_

XXXXX

When they entered House's office Wilson had already decided he was not leaving it until he got a straight answer.

"Why don't you trust me?"

House paused in pulling off his overcoat, "You want a list?"

Wilson reflected that House could make it feel like he'd just punched you in the stomach, without touching you at all, "Yeah, if that's what you have."

"It was Cuddy who made the detox bet, but you were behind it. You lied to me about the Addison's guy. You went to Tritter about the Vicodin. You drugged me for weeks with antidepressants. Who knows what else you've been hiding and lying to me about?" House pulled out his prescription bottle and shook out a pill with practiced ease.

House was so close to the truth with his last comment Wilson could hardly breathe, but he pulled on YEARS of lying practice, "Don't be ridiculous. I thought we were past all of that. This is about what happened yesterday and that fact that you seem to think I'm going to let you fall."

This seemed to make House uncomfortable, he looked away, "It was a stupid exercise and I really think cripples should be exempt, O.K?"

"What about Foreman and Cameron? Do you trust them? What about Cuddy? Do you seriously think that she would let you get even the barest chance at a lawsuit?" Wilson was trying for humour but could feel himself failing miserably.

"Look, I fall and I hurt. I hurt a lot more than you would. So excuse me if I want to prevent that by not hurling myself backwards into space."

"It's hardly hurling, it's more of a gentle drop. And it's NOT empty space; there is someone there who cares about you preventing you from hitting the ground." Wilson felt his hands gravitate towards his hips even though House teased him about that pose all the time.

House began spinning his fuzzy ball on the desk.

"You're scared." Wilson said suddenly, "Deep down you really think we're all going to let you fall on your ass and laugh about it."

"You cut up my cane." House muttered.

"You thought that was good! You said so! It was a prank war!"

"I put your hand in warm water when you were sleeping. I didn't make you fall and hurt- I didn't cut up what helps you WALK." House was jerkily putting together his IPOD, a sure sign this conversation was over.

Wilson was floored and the sound of the Rolling Stones singing Jumpin' Jack Flash made it clear he was dismissed.

XXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes: I have a few beautiful screen caps of Hugh playing the slide steel guitar; pity won't let me post anything but text. Anyway, go to YouTube and search: Hugh Laurie-Too Long Johnny for the full experience.**

**The songs House was treating the clinic to were Muddy Waters, someone Hugh Laurie has mentioned before as a favourite in an interview.**

**Ijzer, you totally made my month. House is the fandom I try to stick as close to 'reality' as humanly possible. You know, except the medicine which is WAY beyond my humble capabilities. Thank you so much.**

**To the best of my knowledge, DragonHunter200, no mention of any House book as ever been uttered. The closest thing (which I made reference to) was the great Cameron/Foreman article debate; however that was almost exclusively about the patient I would imagine.**

**Chowrie, rem acu tetigisti! That is exactly how I felt about the sawing of the cane incident. As illustrated here……..**

**XXXXX**

"Can I talk to you?" Wilson asked Foreman, looking slightly wild eyed.

"The corner him trick didn't work, huh?" Foreman examined a salad critically before putting it on his tray.

"More like blew up in my face in the worst possible way."

Foreman raised his eyebrows and took out his wallet, "Aren't you getting anything?"

"I don't think I'm ever going to eat again." Wilson ran a hand through his hair.

Foreman decided this process needed speeding up and told the cashier to keep the change, "What happened?"

"O.K. I'm going to tell you a story about when I spent a few weeks living at House's place."

Foreman ate his sandwich and snickered a few times throughout the telling of the tail, "Alright, House can be childish, everyone knows that. Are you telling me he can dish it out but he can't take it? Because I've seen no evidence of that. What did you do to get him back?"

"I sawed his cane halfway through and just waited for it to snap. And it did. And he fell. And I made a parting shot and left him lying on the floor in the hallway outside Radiology."

Foreman put down his fork, "Wow. That's… I don't know what that is."

Wilson scrambled to defend himself, "It was a prank war, though. HE declared it."

"That wasn't a prank, though. A prank is something you do to someone for a laugh, but in order for it to be funny it has to apply to everyone. You do what House does and put someone's hand in warm water. Everyone would pee the bed, its biology. You probably wouldn't do it to a bedwetting kid trying to kick the habit.

Cuddy once changed House's Vicodin for laxatives. That was kind of in bad taste because he needs his pain meds, but still you can slip anyone laxies. Except someone with a bowel disorder, then it's just cruel.

Falling down is a big deal for someone with a motor disability. Knocking over cripples isn't funny, Wilson. House can't saw through half your leg and wait for it to snap. If it can't be applied to everyone the joke isn't a joke, it's an attack.

House didn't hurt you by making you wet the couch. Did you hurt him? Did you come back and check to make sure he was alright? I know you didn't help him back up because he probably wouldn't have let you."

Wilson covered his face with his hands.

"Look, I know you might think this is all semantics-"

Wilson waved one hand in the air, "No, you're right. Of course you're right. Christ, no wonder he didn't want to do that stupid exercise. What kind of friend am I? How could I have done that?"

"Now don't go overboard, House has done a lot to you over the years." Foreman pointed out.

"Not anything like what I've done to him." Wilson muttered, "I have to go."

Foreman watched him leave and noticed Cameron chatting at another table with several nurses, it was probably House related. Most things seemed to be.

XXXXX

Cameron actually found a huge resource in the nursing staff. She'd been surprised to find out that not only did the majority of the nursing staff have stories about House, they actually _liked him._

It made sense if she thought about it. House didn't abuse the nurses like most of the other doctors at the hospital. He abused his fellows.

House didn't blame nurses when something went wrong, he blamed the doctors or the patients themselves.

He told off doctors and patients right and left and most of the nurses secretly really enjoyed this, it was a sort of catharsis. He could do it, they couldn't, and he obliged them by doing loudly and in public.

They had House stories galore. Stories from before his infarction, stories from the very first time Princeton Plainsboro met Gregory House onward.

Cameron had a tape recorder ready and an eager ear as a sixty year old ER charge nurse told her about House's very first shift.

She was amazed to find out he'd been a trauma surgeon back then, that must have been the field in which he'd done his rather abbreviated residency. That was before nephrology even.

House had made his mark that very first night, flying through the ER like a bat out of Hell. They called him 'Miracle Man'. There wasn't anything broken that he couldn't put back together.

But Nurse Dorothy knew it wouldn't last.

"That boy had a mind like a steel trap. But there's only so many different ways to fix people when they've been hurt. It didn't, I know this sounds ghoulish, _interest_ him enough."

And House already had his trademark loudmouth and incredible verbal sparring skills, he treated both patients and other doctors then much the same way he did now.

Cameron found out the nurses used to set doctors up, the high and mighty ones that talked down to the under staff. They'd make sure they were in the right place at the right time doing the right stupid thing and BAM House would descend upon them like the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Apparently this was still common practice today. Cameron wondered if House was even aware of it.

In one lunch hour she filled three tapes of House stories to transcribe. And there seemed to be so much more. It felt like just when she thought she had a handle on House, she realized all she had done was skimmed off a surface layer.

It was like the tip of the iceberg. She was going to need a lot more help than the few anecdotes, introductions, and afterwards she'd been planning for the others.

XXXXX


	13. Chapter 13

Chase came up to Diagnostics after lunch; he had a nice gap between Mr. Johnson's gallbladder and Mrs. Sing's ovarian cysts.

House was playing the steel guitar he'd heard about from the clinic, but the older doctor looked moody and sullen. He saddled over to Cameron in the conference room to inquire.

"He was in a great mood this morning. You heard about the clinic?" At his nod she labelled another tape and frowned, "And then Wilson ruined it."

"So it's not… you know, just a bad mood?"

She nodded, "Seems to be. I could smack Wilson, I really could. I need him to sign off on a good dozen of these," she gestured to the chart pile, "and _that's_ just going to be a dream now."

Well, no harm in trying, Chase thought, and entered the lion's den. He stood and listened to the twangy sound and watched the nimble fingers pluck the strings. House had a piece of metal covering one of his fingers and he kept sliding it down the strings.

When House finished the song he looked up, his face held neither welcome nor foreboding so Chase took a chance and sat down, "What was that?"

"Chase, my little wombat, we have to give you a musical education." House said, shaking his head. But he seemed to perk up a little, "That was 'Whiskey Blues.'"

"I've never heard a guitar made of steel before."

"It's a blues instrument, really." House caressed it like a lover, "Did you ever learn?"

"To play the guitar? No, I've never even held one."

House winced, "Oh, that's just not right. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"You've gone twenty-eight years without so much as plunking out Stairway to Heaven with your friends in the garage? How can anyone go twenty-eight years…? Every man should know how to play the guitar. It should be a law." House put the steel guitar in its case and picked up the acoustic.

"Alright, come here." House gestured Chase over.

Chase spent a moment blinking at him before he pulled the chair over to the other side of the desk. His knees were now touching House's and he wasn't quite sure what was happening.

Then House gently, as if handing over an infant, laid the guitar in Chase's startled hands.

House corrected the way the Chase was holding it and moved each of his fingers into place so they were pressing down hard on three particular strings, "Now this is the G Major Chord. Go ahead, give it a strum."

They both winced at the noise; House picked up Chase's right hand and demonstrated what part to hit the strings with, and fished around in the desk until he found a tin canister filled with various plastic picks.

It was a strange but beautiful hour or so, and incredibly intimate, in fact it was the most Chase had ever been touched by another man. His father had always limited how much physical contact he'd had with him. And House touched people so very rarely, he felt a bit honoured.

House's fingers were thickly calloused and his hands over all were incredibly strong. Chase felt rather weak and delicate in comparison.

House taught him half a dozen chords and the C Major scale and told him to come back tomorrow.

Chase left feeling incredibly calm and upbeat, House could be a very patient teacher when he wanted to be. Chase wasn't sure if he'd ever been any good at the guitar, but for now he decided to just revel in the male attention.

And apparently it had put House into a better mood; Cameron gave him a big grin and thumbs up as he left.

XXXXX

When Chase arrived the next day for what he assumed was another lesson, House handed him a guitar case, "This is Stella. She's yours now."

Chase gawped for a few seconds before stuttering out awkward thanks.

"I've had her since I was twelve. She's been to four continents with me, and she always played true. She'll do right by you." House pronounced, "Now, you have something to practice on. You take that guitar with you everywhere, you have a spare minute, you practice. Now get her out, you have more chords to learn."

Stella was clearly vintage, but she was lovely, even Chase could see that.

"Be careful with her, but she isn't made of glass. She's a tool, like a scalpel. It's the thing you play the music with. But the music has to come from you. George Harrison used to say that you can be the best guitar player in the world, but if you're not enlightened forget about it!"

Chase nodded, hugging the new guitar a bit. It was probably the most meaningful thing anyone had ever given to him, "And who was he?"

House gaped at him for a full minute, obviously struck speechless.

Then he laid his head on the desk, "O.K. Apparently this is a much deeper deficiency than I had anticipated. Bring me your IPOD."

"I don't have one."

House closed his eyes, "O.K. After work, go out and buy an IPOD. _Then_ bring me your IPOD. You have a lot of catching up to do."

Then House seemed to shake himself out of the shock Chase had put him in by revealing the depth of his musical ignorance, and he got down to business.

After about fifteen minutes of chord switching and up and down strokes, Chase asked again, "Um, so who was George Harrison?"

"He was a guitar player. For a little band called The Beatles."

"Oh, right. I've heard of them! That's what you were playing the other week. It sounded good, really good." Chase effused, pleased at least that he did know this.

"I hope so. I've been playing the Beatles off and on since 1972." House replied dryly, "You really have no idea do you?"

"About what?" Chase asked, trying the F Major scale again.

"Never mind, you will when I'm done with you. I should have started this on your first day. I've neglected you, little wombat, that's unforgivable."

Chase wanted to say something along the lines of, 'You've taught me more, done more for me, and treated me better than my own father.' But he realized House wouldn't take that as a compliment. And that sort of sappiness never went down well with House.

So Chase just hung on his every word and played his very best, because he knew that was the kind of thing House understood.

XXXXX

Cuddy applied the gel herself, wincing at how cold it was. She did some breathing exercises to relax.

"O.K, Lisa we should be hearing the heartbeat right about…" the OB/GYN switched on the Doppler machine, "now."

And there it was, fast but strong. Tangible and _there_, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

"I know you've had a lot of miscarriage concerns but at twelve weeks the chances that are a LOT lower than they were before." The other doctor was moving the transducer over her bared stomach, "And there we are."

Cuddy strained forward, "Does everything look normal?"

"Yep, still tiny, of course, but two arms and two legs. A lot of movement. You won't really be feeling that for awhile. Everything looks good."

Cuddy let out a breath and felt some tension lift. She couldn't take her eyes off the small life on the screen.

"Welcome to the second trimester! How have your mornings been?"

"Not bad at all. I was kind of worried, I've been a little tired, but shouldn't I feel worse?" Cuddy asked anxiously, hating the fact that she was asking questions at all. She was a medical doctor, she should know everything.

The OB/GYN chuckled, "We get lucky mums like you every once in a while. They have dream pregnancies and get all convinced it means there's something wrong. Everything looks perfectly normal. I can't tell the sex yet, we should know on next ultrasound. In the meantime, keep doing whatever it is that you're doing. It's working!"

Cuddy took the ultrasound image home and put it on the fridge. She knew she wasn't out of the woods yet, despite the other doctor's confidence. She was healthy but she was over thirty-five. She had a history of fertility problems.

Though, apparently _House _didn't. When she'd given the in vitro doctor the sample to analyze before implantation, he'd commented on the very high sperm count and the almost aggressive little swimmers.

Cuddy smiled, of course, that was just House all over, wasn't it? What was it Chase had said; Veni Vidi Vici is his way of life?

If _anyone_ could have gotten the job done, it would be House. Even his sperm was determined to conquer.

XXXXX


	14. Chapter 14

The next day, Chase dutifully brought in a brand new IPOD. It was still in the packaging and in the bag with the receipt. House gave him a despairing look.

"Well, I didn't want to touch it. I don't know how it works!" Chase defended.

"Alright. I'm going to put a lot of music on this thing. And you are going to listen to all of it. A lot. When you _know_ it, then we'll move on. Now take out Stella."

Chase's fingertips were always either numb or aching from the constant pressure on the strings. House would instruct and then drill him for one to two hours a day. Then send him home with the instructions to practice for another two hours.

By the end of the first week, though, Chase couldn't imagine ever giving it up. He was finally having fun and seeing progress. House would have his guitar out to demonstrate something, or he'd play beats on the drums for Chase to master rhythms. The whole world would shrink to just contain the two of them, side by side, enveloped in the music.

It seemed like every night that first week he was sent to the music store on Main for something. First it was an electronic tuner because House said he wasn't always going to be around to tune it for him and Chase didn't have the ear to do it himself yet.

Then he needed a metronome for rhythm practice at home. Chase at least remembered these from his short childhood piano career. When he'd shared this fact with House, his mentor had been pleased. Apparently that meant he have to spend less time learning music theory and could devote more to ear training.

House was very big on playing things by ear, that's how he did almost everything if he possibly could.

When called House one night in a panic because he'd broken a string, House had laughed and told him to come over.

He'd arrived on House's doorstep at 221B Baker Street, highly aware of the fact that he had been there on more than one occasion, but had never been actually _invited._

House had ushered him in and taken up Stella. Chase could tell he was doing this much slower than he usually would so Chase could learn, it still only took him about three minutes to replace and tune the new string. He'd then handed Chase an unopened packet of acoustic strings and told him to keep several of them on him at all times. He also gave him a little plastic string winder, insisting he had at least a dozen of the things floating around the apartment.

After that House got him to play to a piano accompaniment, which was different and a little harder. It was also a little frustrating because he had to focus on his own playing and could give House's the attention he felt it deserved.

House played the piano the way other people breathed. There was no effort, his fingers just seemed to know the keys and were absolutely incapable of missing a beat or hitting a wrong note.

When he described it to a clearly jealous Cameron later he said it was like running water, all liquid and smooth.

So on the latest trip to the music store for something called a 'capo'; he wandered in to the skate shop next door. There he found a wall of House Shoes. They were actually called Converse All-Stars, but they were indelibly marked in his head as forever associated with House. All highly technical basketball shoes in various neon colors were as well.

But Chase had always particularly liked these. House probably had at least fifteen pairs that Chase could remember, all in different designs and colors.

But House did not have _this _pair, and Chase suddenly wanted them. He wanted them quite badly.

When Chase showed up for his lesson the next day he was wearing them, along with his now usual set of green surgical scrubs.

He was rewarded with House's eyebrows shooting up and a distinct look of respect, "Nice shoes."

"Thanks," Chase propped them up next to the House's cane. They matched perfectly, black with hi-flames. For the first time in his life, Chase felt, well, _cool._

XXXXX

"Do you think I could sneak a peek at Dr. House's employment records? And by 'sneak a peek' I mean copy for my own purposes." Cameron gave Cuddy her sweetest smile.

Cuddy sighed, "This is for the House Chronicles, isn't it? Well, they should make pretty interesting reading. I think he was fired twice."

"You didn't read them?" Cameron asked taking the pre-offered keys to the file room.

Cuddy shook her head, "They were all over the place, coming in at different times. I knew him. I knew how brilliant he was. How could I not hire him?"

"I know he was here in the early eighties, I've been interviewing nurses right and left. When did you hire him back on?"

"1995. March, I think. The hospital hasn't been the same since." Cuddy smiled.

Cameron tucked her laptop under her arm and jangled the keys, "How could it ever have been?"

XXXXX

A pale-faced Cameron entered Wilson's office, the others were already there giving her worried looks.

"You paged us?" Cuddy opened, she had the month end paperwork waiting on her desk and was a bit more impatient than everyone else.

Cameron sat down shakily and addressed Wilson, "What was House doing before he came to work here again?"

Wilson paused for a moment; thinking about House was a painful subject at the moment. They'd been avoiding each other for more than a week, "I'm not really sure. We met at Cedar Sinai in 1987. I was a med student, he was already a nephrologists and my attending. We got to be pretty good friends and he left in 1990 to do an infectious disease fellowship at John Hopkins. We lost touch for awhile and met up here again in 1995."

Cameron looked from Cuddy to Wilson, "So neither of you knew he was with Doctors without Borders for two years?"

Their reaction was answer enough.

"Seriously?"

"Oh, my God, when was this?"

Slapping the paperwork down on Wilson's desk so they could all see a much younger House, clean shaven but unsmiling, it was almost a mug shot, "I e-mailed them and they faxed over his records."

Everyone crowded around the desk to get a better look, and Cameron froze them all in place with her next words.

"He was in Rwanda in 1994."

XXXXX


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes: Sorry for such a delay, I've been going through a rough patch. I actually have Chase's shoes, or rather, he has mine. Though, mine are a good five years old and show their wear.**

**I was wondering if anyone would catch the significance of House naming his first guitar. Since no one mentioned it, he paid homage to B.B. King who named every guitar he'd ever had 'Lucille' as a reminder after doing something foolish.**

**House has a similar story, obviously, which may or may not be told to Chase. Cameron may uncover it in her Chronicles, though. I'm like Cameron now, every time I uncover a piece of the House puzzle, I reveal a minefield of new information. It's a wonder the writers of the show don't spend any time doing this, it's certainly a wild ride.**

**XXXXX**

They all spent some time processing the information in silence. Cuddy picked up the service record and touched the photo. She'd forgotten how _cute_ he'd been back then. Now, now he had the 'sexy older man' look in spades. But back then he'd just been cute, with big blue eyes and a quirky smile.

Of course, he wasn't smiling in the photo.

"In 1993 he was in Somalia, the Sudan, and Ethiopia. It has dates and what provinces he was in all on record. From early March 1994 until the end of August it just says 'Rwanda'. They didn't know where he was or what he was doing. They couldn't have, it was chaos." Cameron elaborated.

"The 100 Days." Cuddy muttered.

"I once asked him why he didn't do more charity work. I thought it might help him reach out or something." Wilson stated flatly.

"I imagine witnessing genocide would make you a little less than inclined to help your fellow man." Foreman reached for the service record to peruse it himself.

"I can't even imagine it. I literally can't even imagine what it must have been like." Cameron wiped her eyes, "You all had to have seen the footage, they were hacking people up!"

"What do you think he did? I mean, this is House, he wasn't just going to stand there." Chase looked around at the rest of them.

Wilson shrugged, "Played doctor? Played soldier? Probably both. I doubt we're ever going to get him to talk about it. He's never so much as mentioned this, any of this."

"I always wanted to join DWB." Cameron remarked after another lengthy silence.

"House probably isn't the one to give you a promotional speech about it. In fact, I think I can guess exactly what he'd tell you." Wilson rubbed at his eyes; he never slept well when he and House were fighting. It was strange; he slept just fine whenever he and one of his wives were on the outs.

Maybe it was because he had more practice at that. House was difficult but they rarely really fought. Now that he thought about it _he _probably came across as the difficult one to House.

"So we write this up as another chapter in the Book of House and try to work around it." Foreman slapped the service record down, "Obviously further PTSD than we suspected."

Cameron laughed but there was no humour in it, "PTSD. That sounds so neat and clinical. He probably saw things that they don't even put in horror movies and we just call it something like 'Post-Traumatic Stress' when he has a reaction."

"What else do we call it, Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy asked, "What else can we possibly do?"

"How about we call it 'He Went to Do a Good Thing and Ended up in a War Zone That Rivalled the Holocaust'? How about we call it 'How Did We Ever Expect Him to Be a Normal Person After Something Like This'?"

No one had an answer.

XXXXX

Chase was the first to see House after Cameron's revelation. This was almost ideal as with his family background, pretending everything was just fine was second nature to him.

"Wombat, catch." House tossed him the IPOD he'd purchased a few days before, "Now that's pretty much everything worth listening to from the '50's, '60's, and '70's. Get to know that stuff, and I mean _really _know it, and you can move on up to modern times. Now take out Stella."

The lesson put the earlier conversation out of his mind; House had told him he had potential. From House that was practically adoration. His calluses were coming along, but his lead guitar skills still needed a lot of work. House had told him once he had a good handle on the acoustic they could add an electric to his repertoire.

"You'll want to start with a good Fender Strat. It's what Jimi started with, it's what I started with, and it's a good solid first guitar."

"Jimmy? Like Dr. Wilson? I didn't know he played." Chase remarked.

House snorted, "Jimi HENDRIX. For God's sake listen to that IPOD."

XXXXX

"Hey," Cuddy leaned against the doorframe.

House looked up from his PSP, "Dr. Cuddy, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was going to ask you a favour."

House put down the game, "Oh? And with what ammunition did you come packing with which to 'ask' me this favour?"

"There's a presentation for Doctors without Borders coming up. One of the spokesmen mentioned that you did some work for them in the early nineties. Sure was news me, I have to say!"

House's face had fallen into a mask, "No."

"It's just a little five minute speech; you'd be cleared for the afternoon."

"No."

"I'm sure I could knock off some more clinic hours-"

"No."

"House, all you have to do is say the usual 'it changed my life and the way I do medicine' and you finally get some peer acknowledgement. They said you were with them for two years! That's a significant amount of charity work for someone everyone calls 'The Grinch.'"

"No."

Cuddy knew she wasn't going to get anywhere if he hadn't even made a single sarcastic comment, "O.K, forget it. I just thought you might finally want your colleagues to think of you in a different way."

"I could care less about what they think."

"Alright, what about the DWB? Don't you think they deserve every plug they can get?"

"The DWB doesn't need me to send idealistic young doctors like Cameron to dangerous Third World countries. You can barely beat them off with a stick these days; they're all so willing to go. Stupid waste of life, do you know what their risking?" House suddenly dropped his wooden face and became almost animated.

"Is this about Dr. Cameron? As far as I know she has no immediate plans-"

"She better not. I'll inject her with malaria myself before I'll let her get on the plane."

Cuddy folded her arms, "I understand you probably know the risks better than I do, but you did good work there, didn't you? These people are doing good work."

"I'm not saying that they aren't. I just don't want to be the one telling them to go. I won't play executioner."

"I know the nineties were a rough time, but some places have improved. Going to a Third World country is not a death sentence!" Cuddy countered.

"Oh, yeah? What about the Congo? What about Cambodia? Those people need doctors just as much as anyone else, probably more. Are you going to send Cameron, or Foreman, or Chase to deal with the Khmer Rouge?"

"Pol Pot's dead, House. That group was disbanded."

"That's what you think. And that's what they'll tell the poor twenty something doctors they send there. Just because it isn't in the news anymore doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Movements like that don't just go away and neither do the thousands of landmines still cutting up the country."

"I doubt they'll be sending any of out doctors to Cambodia." Cuddy replied, but she didn't sound sure anymore.

"Oh, yeah? What about Nigeria? Uganda? Somalia? The Philippines? These places need doctors for a reason, Cuddy! Yes, you can say what good work it is and how brave they are, and I can tell you to shove it! I did my time."

Cuddy licked her lips, "You were in Somalia, weren't you? In '93."

"There was a cease-fire. I think it lasted about a week if it ever stopped at all. They were killing each other a lot faster than I could put them back together. It was the biggest waste of time I'd ever been subjected to until this conversation, anyway. It also carried the lovely bonus of being held at gun point over and over until it became almost boring and occasionally being nearly blown up. All in all, fun for the whole family."

House began gathering up his toys and loading his backpack, Cuddy noted it was precisely five p.m. Well it was now or never.

"And in '94, it said you were in Rwanda."

House froze mid-motion as he reached for his IPOD; the set of his back was suddenly so tense it made his shoulder blades razor sharp.

Cuddy unconsciously took a step back, aware suddenly that she'd pushed too hard.

"Like I said," House stated suddenly, "Fun for the whole family. Not."

XXXXX


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Sorry again for the endless delay. I seem to be in a complete creativity slump. My music has suffered, my writing has suffered, and even my very thinking is slow and uninspired.**

**But as I still force myself to practice, I shall force myself to write **_**something**_** in hopes that I don't entirely lose my readership. So here it goes.**

Chase had discovered The Beatles.

Oh, he had always known they had existed, he'd even heard a few songs here and there. But he felt like a teenager in the 1960s the first time he scrolled through his new IPOD and selected _Abbey Road._

He couldn't believe he'd gone his entire life without hearing this. Then he selected the _White Album_ and literally stopped in his tracks.

He spent the next week and a half listening to _Abbey Road, the White Album, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, _and _Revolver._

House didn't ask about the IPOD at all during this time, so when he did inquire he was actually a bit annoyed.

"Yes, The Beatles were great, easily one of the best bands in the history of music. But there are others, wombat. I put about five thousand songs on that damn thing! You can't just listen to The Beatles and ignore everything else! Go home tonight and listen to Jimi Hendrix's _Are You Experienced,_ The Rolling Stones' _Sticky Fingers _and The Essential Johnny Cash. That is your assignment. When you come in tomorrow I will demand air guitar demonstrations and chorus lyric bungling."

So Chase disappointedly turned on his IPOD on the way to the car park and searched out Jimi Hendrix. He had a vague recollection of hearing the name during his teenage years, and of course, from House himself.

The very first song blew him away. It was called _Purple Haze_ and for the very first time, Chase felt the hunger for electric guitar.

Up until that point he'd been more than satisfied with Stella. Cameron joked that he loved that guitar more than her. He'd actually been a bit apprehensive when House mentioned he could start him on electric soon.

Now suddenly it was all he could think about.

He went into the music store on main with no other intention but some innocent looking and possibly pricing.

He walked out with a brand new black and white Fender Stratocaster and Vox practice amp and a good two grand poorer.

He was practically afraid to touch them, of course, but he spent all weekend admiring them.

XXXXX

Cuddy ate her egg white omelette and fruit salad dutifully, while staring at the calendar on the kitchen wall. 'Fourteen weeks today' was written in red Sharpie on the box that represented the date.

Shouldn't she have felt _something _by now? All the pregnant women she'd treated in clinics when she'd been a resident seemed to be speaking to her once more. Each one of them was complaining of how tired they were, or their morning sickness, aches and pains, and heart burn.

She'd felt a little tired, but her job was often draining, it was nothing she could ascribe to the pregnancy. She hadn't gained any weight, she certainly wasn't showing yet.

What did this mean? Was her body not serious about the pregnancy? Was it preparing even now to terminate it for no good reason as it had the last?

XXXXX

She really wasn't in any state that day to be dealing with _anyone _let alone a slightly manic House. But here he was in her office barking excitedly about the latest insane test he wanted to perform.

It was really such an innocent comment when you considered what House had said to her and about her over the years.

"Think about it, Cuddy. This is history in the making! Don't you want to tell Junior there about how you made the call to do something revolutionary while he was still a fetus?" House tossed this out and gestured towards her midsection completely casually, as if he wasn't saying anything meaningful.

And Cuddy promptly burst into tears.

Which, she promised to take note of later, turned out to be the one and only way she'd ever managed to render House speechless.

As she tried to get a grip, he shifted almost anxiously on his cane and plucked several tissues from the box on her desk.

When he offered them to her she started crying harder, "H-h-how-?"

House strained forward, clearly wanting to finish her sentences and hurry her along, but he seemed to restrain himself.

"H-How did you KNOW?"

She looked at him through bleary, tear-filled eyes imploringly.

House blinked, "Well, the breasts are a lovely indicator. And then there's the skin and hair."

She looked down at her chest, "T-they haven't grown THAT much!"

"Ah, yes. But when you make as through and regular a study of the Cuddy Twins as I do, ANY growth is patently obvious. And, to add in the cliché, you glow, alright. How far along are you, fifteen weeks?"

She sniffed, "Fourteen."

"Second trimester, that's good. So hormones, much?"

She sputtered a laugh between sobs, "I-I'm just so scared! I'm terrified something's wrong. I've had all the tests but…" She stopped and looked up at him, realising suddenly the key to her peace of mind.

House could diagnose an epidemic with two sick infants. He could _hear _the slightest heart irregularity and _sniff_ out an infection. His eyes were the equivalent of a panel of experts. In fact, they were better. They were House's eyes and they saw EVERYTHING. House could pick out weakness and deformity at fifty paces and diagnose a room full of people in under an hour.

"Could you run the tests?" She licked her lips and sniffed imploringly. She knew she was shamelessly utilizing a very sexist commodity in the crying woman act. But she had noticed over the years that House was vulnerable to it, or at least as vulnerable as House ever allowed himself to get.

"I'm the infectious disease guy, not an OB/GYN, remember? Could you imagine the world where it was the other way around? 'Cause I'm doing it right now and it isn't pretty. It features a lot of screaming pregnant women crying out for my blood. Not that you haven't done that already, or, at least, you _will_, I'm sure."

"I know you-you're not an expert, but I'd feel so much better if you could just take a look. And keep looking to make sure everything really is O.K. I'll still go to my 'real' doctor, I promise. Please, House?"

XXXXX

This is how she ended up in stirrups, on an exam table, as House ran another ultrasound and then gave her another abdominal and cervical exam.

His hands were surprisingly gentle and warm and he was thorough and incredibly professional. He talked about a new word he'd learned ' floccinaucinihilipilification', which was apparently the act of accessing something as worthless, while he had his hands in her vagina. He said he couldn't wait to find a way to drop it on the ducklings.

"Cuddy, you are hosting a perfect little parasite. As of this moment, your pregnancy is completely normal. Now promise never to cry at me again and I'll give you a lollipop." He welded a blue confection enticingly.

She nearly started crying again, and realised what he'd said earlier about hormones was probably true, "Promise you'll do this again in a few weeks and I'll try to restrain myself." She accepted the offered treat.

House sighed and nodded, popping a red lollipop in his own mouth.

XXXXX


End file.
